


The Burglar Hobbit

by TheLittleMuse



Series: The Lovely Lie [2]
Category: The Hobbit (2012), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Bilbo has a dark past, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-01-15
Updated: 2014-01-22
Packaged: 2017-11-25 15:30:59
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 14,728
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/640336
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheLittleMuse/pseuds/TheLittleMuse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bilbo has a darker past and knows more of searching for homes than anybody might think, but he's not going to let anybody think he's anything other than the gentlehobbit with the happy home that he so longs to be. So he's not entirely happy when Gandalf comes knocking.<br/>Sequel/Companion Piece to 'Everybody Loves To Love a Lie'</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“Why are you here, Gandalf?” As much as Bilbo liked and was grateful to Gandalf, the wizard always managed, with a few words and a hard stare, see right through him and expose the wounds still red raw. Even as comfortable and happy as he now was, he could never be anything but defensive around Gandalf.

“What makes you think I am here for anything?” and that, Gandalf’s constant imitation of ignorance and innocence only made Bilbo more defensive. 

“Because you never go anywhere if not for a purpose even if they do call you a ‘wanderer.’ A clever trick on your part, I suppose they fear you less then.”

Gandalf’s sad look at his words only irritated Bilbo further, “Do you fear me then, Bilbo Baggins?”

“As one like you should be feared. You are not evil, but you have a horrible habit of assuming you know best. You have some plan then, no doubt.”

“I am looking for someone to share in an adventure.”

Bilbo stiffened, “And why have you stopped at my door?”

“Because this life is not for you, Bilbo. You know that as well as I.”

Bilbo stilled entirely. His anger was held down with iron manacles but that did not prevent anybody from seeing it, “And what life do you think I am made for?”

Gandalf closed his eyes, “That was not my meaning, my dear friend. I am trying to help you. You must trust me.”

Bilbo turned towards the door of Bag End, “Do what you will, Gandalf, I cannot stop you, but you know I cannot be helped. There is nothing left.”

Gandalf watched Bilbo return to his hobbit hole. A heart that had grown as bitter as Bilbo’s would have saddened him on any day, but his heart told him that Bilbo had some part to play in this story. The ways of the world were rarely revealed, even to the Maiar. He had always relied on his instincts and intuition and he had almost always been correct. Smaug, the growing darkness in the world and Bilbo, he knew they were all connected somehow, and that Bilbo would have a greater part to play than he could yet see.

…

Bilbo had known that Gandalf wouldn’t give up on his scheme, so when dwarves started to show up at his door he wasn’t entirely surprised. When Dwalin had arrived and told him they totalled thirteen he’d only apologised (never let it be said that Bilbo Baggins was a bad host) that he probably didn’t have enough food in his pantry. But really, he hadn’t been expecting them, how was he supposed to prepare for feeding dwarves in an afternoon?

When Balin arrived, who at least looked like he had his head screwed on straight, he’d managed to get to the whole sorry plan out of him. Afterwards he’d had to revise his opinions on how well Balin’s head was screwed on. Facing a dragon would be hard enough with an army behind them, let alone just thirteen dwarves - and one wizard and one potential burglar, he allowed.

Still, he didn’t let on his opinions, nor his opposition to playing a part in Gandalf’s game. He played the good, innocent, confused hobbit that he wished he were, fooling everyone but Gandalf.

Damn Gandalf, before the wizard had come he had even begun to fool himself and that had been a happy time.

…

“So. This is the hobbit. He looks more like a greengrocer than a burglar.”

Bilbo remained silent. Thorin Oakenshield could think what he would.

“Axe or sword?”

“I wasn’t aware that you were wanting a soldier. I have no skills in outright battle, if you don’t count conkers of course.”

“Then you are useless.”

“I thought you were here to employ a burglar, besides, conkers can be quite dangerous. At any rate, it is no matter.”

“That is not your-”

“Oh it is my decision,” Bilbo knew there was no way he could ever intimidate Thorin, or even be treated as an equal, but he would not be dismissed so easily, “I will not travel with those who think nothing of me.” He turned, “You should not have brought them here, Gandalf.”

Balin stepped forward, throwing a ‘for once just go along with me’ look at Thorin, “Aye, we are employing you as a burglar, but the road is likely to be dangerous and you will need to defend yourself. Thorin meant no disrespect.”

“And there I must respectfully disagree with you. He meant every disrespect, but I understand his worry. I’ll think it over.”

…

Bilbo sat in his room and listened to the conversation going on next to him. Talk of keys and maps and treasures. And the dragon, he reminded himself, never let a dragon fail to enter the equation. He listened, and although he could sympathise with them entirely, his own fear of loosing his home if he should leave (not to mention his life) overwhelmed him.

But then he heard them sing. As they sang the hobbit felt the love of beautiful things made by hands and by cunning and by magic moving through him, a fierce and a jealous love, the desire of the hearts of dwarves.*

_Home_ , it thrummed, _This is our home. And we will take it back._

And in that moment, much against his will, Bilbo’s decision was made.

…

Bilbo read over the contract, questioning every detail. Then, neat hobbit as he was, he left instructions and a note saying he was going away for some time, and that Bag End was to be left to Frodo should he not return. In the morning he was gone.

…

Bilbo was now clad in the clothes of one who lived on the road, old clothes he hadn’t had the sense to burn. He was half relieved, half angry at how easy it was to change again.

He still didn’t know why he had come. He had been happy at Bag End, driven his nails into the wood and sworn he would never be ripped from his home again, but all it took, it seemed, was thirteen dwarves, one wizard and a song. Bilbo felt mildly disgusted with himself.

…

Bilbo knew the dwarves still doubted him, his allergic reaction to the pony only exacerbating their doubts. It was too late now to turn back, even though the Shire was still in view. Something unruly had stirred and so he would stick with these dwarves even as they hated him.

Besides, he had signed a contract. He was a hobbit of his word if nothing else.

He would prove himself. He would never belong in the Company of dwarves, set to reclaim their home, their passion was not his and never would be, it burned like dragon fire.

He would be useful. A burglar they had wanted and so a burglar they would get. They would value him and so when the battle came as it inevitably must they would pull him back and say, “Not you Burglar, you must be kept safe.”

Bilbo shook himself from his dream and set his eyes to the road.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Almost direct quote from 'The Hobbit' (book) - I wanted Bilbo to make his decision when he heard the dwarves sing, so I read that bit in the book because I remembered it was beautiful and then literally couldn't think of any other way to put it. Sorry Tolkein.


	2. Chapter 2

“I still don’t see what use a hobbit will be on our journey, Gandalf,”

“I’ll warrant there’s a lot you don’t see.” Thorin and Gandalf turned to see Bilbo, who neither had heard walk up behind them.

“Is that a threat, hobbit?” said Thorin, his hand now moving to his sword.

“No, just a fact. You know nothing of hobbits and you know nothing of me,” Bilbo walked away before he could allow his bad temper to rule any further. The dwarves were determined to see nothing of worth in him. He didn’t belong in the Company. And he couldn’t go back, either. His already shaky reputation in the Shire would be shot to pieces by him running away and the Sackville-Bagginses would have no doubt already gotten their paws on Bag End.

If Gandalf was aiming to destroy him, he was doing a very good job.

…

They walked and they laughed and they sung and they told stories. After quite a bit of coaxing Bilbo started to tell stories of the Shire, such as his Great-Grand-Uncle Bullroarer, who was as tall as a man and who led the hobbits at the Battle of Greenfields.

He started to feel some companionship, at least with the younger dwarves.

He was almost comfortable.

…

It was easy enough to creep around the trolls, being the stupid creatures they were, the difficulty would be in guiding the ponies back, similarly unnoticed. Bilbo took out the small knife he always carried and set the ponies free. His plan, then, was stupid, but there was really no other way. He panicked the ponies and they began to run and so Bilbo raced out after them, hoping the ponies wouldn’t be caught and distracted the trolls, weaving in and out, completely confusing them before running out of the clearing.

Luck was on his side as much as it wasn’t.

The dawn rose and the trolls turned to stone but they soon realised that all the ponies had spooked and fled. Thorin, of course, blamed him, and Fili and Kili, to be fair, but Bilbo couldn’t help but feel bitter.

At least the dwarves had been cheered up by the troll hoard and Gandalf found Bilbo a sword. It was true that he had never used a sword in his life, his knife had always been sufficient, but it would work as a warning sign when it glowed blue.

…

Then something odd happened. They were being chased by the warg scouts and the orc pack and Kili shot an warg that was about to leap on him. Bilbo pulled out his knife and was darting in and out of the wargs, cutting legs and finding weak spots, sometimes making it easier for the dwarves to kill them and sometimes killing them himself. Once, Bofur pulled him away from an orc and Bombur barrelled in front of him. He was pushed down the hidden passageway first.

Was it possible that the dwarves were actually trying to protect him? That they cared about him? That they thought his life worth saving?

The thought carried him all the way to Rivendell.

…

Elves, thought Bilbo, for all their age, wisdom and beauty, were a lot like immature children. Oh, they would be hospitable to the dwarves, give them food, even. But they wouldn’t give any meat, or any food that the dwarves might like.

Bilbo leaned back. He wasn’t particularly fond of the leaves (it wasn’t even a proper salad!) that the elves had given them either, so he slipped out unnoticed from the group of rowdy dwarves and crept through the gilded corridors of Rivendell. Finding the pantry (or, rather, pantries) was difficult as Rivendell was a large place and he had to slip by all the watchful elves, but he found them soon enough and filled a sack full of the best cuts of meat then slipped back, having memorised the route.

“Here, quit your complaining, I’ve got a present for you,” the dwarves all turned to see Bilbo open his sack, “There should be enough for everyone, so long as you keep an eye on Bombur,” Bombur gave an unashamed grin. Thorin just eyed him as he took his portion from an enthusiastic Bofur.

Of course Thorin wouldn’t be as easy to please as everyone else.

…

“You fought with a knife rather than your sword.”

And _of course_ Thorin would have noticed that.

“I told you I had no skill in battle.”

“But skill with a knife, it seems.”

“Enough to get by.”

…

Bilbo eventually found time to explore Rivendell alone. Thorin might disdain Rivendell (and it had taken a long time for him to cool to mere ‘disdain’) but Bilbo could see it was a beautiful place. He eventually found a room with a broken sword set on a stone statue covered in elven cloth.

_The Shards of Narsil._

He had read enough to recognise the story of the sword and the picture that was above it.

He was so entranced that he didn’t notice the young boy sitting reading in the shadows at first, but once he had it seemed the boy was eager to talk to him.

“You’re one of the group that’s visited with Gandalf,” he said, then frowned, “but you’re not a dwarf.”

“No, I’m not,” said Bilbo, amused despite himself.

“You’re a Halfling,” the boy said as if he had worked out some great mystery.

“That is what some call us, I suppose,”

The boy caught his tone, “Why is it bad?”

“Because it implies that we are half. Lesser than men or elves or even dwarves, because of our stature. We are hobbits and we should not be underestimated because of our stature or because we do not generally involve ourselves in the wars of kings. Never underestimate a hobbit, do you hear me?” he said, mock seriously.

“I won’t. What’s your name, anyway? Mine’s Estel here.”

“Bilbo Baggins. And Estel … that means hope, does it not?” Estel nodded, “Here … you live here but you don’t truly belong,” Estel shrugged, staring intently at his feet. “Well then, Little Hope, we are the same. Wanderers with no true home, though we live like we do. But you, Little Hope, you will find your place to belong, I know it, for to belong is not with a place but with people, I know that much.”

“And you?”

“Yes, me too, I suppose.”

…

_Elf-Friend_ , Bilbo thought, the elves just had to name him Elf-Friend. He was sure the dwarves would be delighted about that. Bilbo just had to wonder if it was another childish way to get at the dwarves since he had nothing to earn the name of ‘friend’ from the elves. All he had done, in fact, was sleep in their beds and steal their food.

_Much like the dwarves did to you._

Oh. No. Besides, it didn’t count; the elves didn’t actually think of him as a friend, it was just a meaningless name, surely.

_So the dwarves do?_

No. Of course not. The dwarves weren’t his friends. Except, he sometimes, just sometimes, felt like he actually belonged in the Company. When they looked out for him, when they smiled as he brought them meat, when they thought him worthy. And they _knew,_ they could understand, they could understand pain and betrayal, they could understand what it was to loose a home.

Except they couldn’t. Because he had never told them.

But, perhaps, one day he would find the strength to. If they were interested in his story.

And somewhere, Bilbo knew, Gandalf was smiling that smug little smile of his.

And for once it didn’t annoy him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those of you that don't know, Estel is Aragorn. That little scene was a product of that scene in the trailers where Bilbo sees the Shards of Narsil, and me imagining if he could have seen little Aragorn there.


	3. Chapter 3

“You must go on without me for a brief while,” said Gandalf.

“Abandoning us again, Gandalf?” said Thorin.

“Do not think my actions in all this quest are without purpose, Thorin Oakenshield! I have been summoned to the White Council. It is not a summons that I can refuse. Whatever the matter, it will serve you well. Elrond, I believe, has no plans on stopping you though he doubts the wisdom of your quest, however, there are others who will attempt to stop you. You can use this chance to slip away. Wait for me in the mountains.”

…

Bilbo felt somewhat like a naughty schoolboy as he crept with the dwarves out of Rivendell. He was obviously not the only one as Fili and Kili couldn’t seem to stop giggling, despite the looks that Thorin was throwing them, although Thorin seemed faintly amused himself

…

Bilbo, strangely, wasn’t all together scared during the stone giant’s battle; perhaps it was because there was truly nothing he could do. He was just an observer. The only thought that seemed to pass through his head was, So, this how I die.

In the end he hadn’t died and he found himself trembling almost uncontrollably as they moved towards the cave.

Adrenaline, he thought, that’s what they say, isn’t it? What they said? Adrenaline, the curse of the Tooks, they live of danger and so are not rightly scared as they should be.

Perhaps that was what had killed his mother. Perhaps it was just the fact she was a mother.

Bilbo let out a hiss of pain that had nothing to do with the mountain. Damn Gandalf. He hadn’t thought about his mother in so long. Unbidden the image rose before him; his mother leaping in front of him, protecting him, only to be torn apart.

When Thorin made the decision not to start a fire he could only agree. No fire for this night.

…

Thorin had taken first watch and was quick to notice when Bilbo sat up.

“You should get some sleep whilst you can, hobbit.”

“I would if I could,” Bilbo muttered back before walking to where Thorin was sitting, “The view is much better now the storm is over.”

“I suppose the accommodation is not up to you usual standard.”

“Some nights sleep doesn’t come, whether it be in the comfiest bed or wet, jagged rocks,” he said before sitting beside Thorin as the dwarf gave him a contemplative look, weighing him up.

“Why did you come with us, hobbit? Why did you leave your comfy home for this?”

“I heard you sing.”

“That is no answer.”

“And yet it is the only answer I can give. I had sworn I would never be torn from Bag End and the Shire again-”

“Again?” Bilbo jolted, as if he hadn’t realised what he was saying and Thorin cursed his impatience but it wouldn’t have mattered anyway. At that moment Bilbo’s sword glowed blue and the floor gave way.

…

The next Thorin saw of Bilbo was him crouched behind the group, gripping his knife, unnoticed by the goblins, as the rest were lead away.

Yes, thought Thorin, you may not be able to kill them all, but stab the right ones in the back and you win. Perhaps the Burglar would be of some use after all. 

Unfortunately, that was the last they saw of Bilbo Baggins when they were in the Goblin caves.

…

The Creature moved away and Bilbo watched from his very fortunate landing spot. He was hidden and the, what seemed to be, large mushrooms had cushioned his fall. Unlike the goblin The Creature had just pulled away.

He knows how to speak, thought Bilbo, he speaks common, and he can’t have learnt that down here in the caves. What moved him to such despair and madness that he found his only existence in this cave with the dark and cold?

Bilbo shook his head. He could not think on that now. 

There must be a way out. So how to get The Creature to help? He would surely sooner eat me. 

Bilbo listened, He’s like a child, a child only cares for what it wants, there is no empathy, but there is a playfulness to the creature. It sings as it kills, joyful little songs.

That is what I must do, I must play with The Creature, if I can.

Bilbo crept from his hiding place, preparing to move to The Creature, when he spotted something shining on the ground. Something seemingly untouched by the dirt that surrounded it. A Ring. Most likely not worth much by dwarven standards.

A whisper of anger came from somewhere.

Bilbo cocked his head. Surely that was wrong. The dwarves could have no measure of beauty if they did not see the worth of this Ring.

Yes.

He was a burglar. The Burglar of the Company. This ring would be part of his share. His prize.

Yes, Bilbo Baggins. I am yours and you are mine. Together.

Bilbo stretched and picked up the Ring. Curious. It almost felt as though it were alive. Warm in his hand, despite the chill of the cave.

A sudden sound made his head snap up. The Creature. He had forgotten the Creature. How had he forgotten the creature?

Bilbo slipped the Ring into his pocket. It belonged there, after all.

…

Holding the Ring was nothing to having the Ring on his finger. Encasing him, keeping him warm. No wonder the Creature, Gollum, as Bilbo had decided to call him, was so livid at its loss. It must be such a loss and Bilbo felt a moment of pity.

No, the Ring wanted me to take it, remember?

He still didn’t kill Gollum.

…

Bilbo had had his mind played with before. Twisted for the satisfaction of others. He knew the feeling, but this was different, this wasn’t hate or pain, it was love. Desperate and obsessive. It was surely some magic. He had to talk to Gandalf, if he could bear to be parted from the Ring for that long.

He rushed from the cave, pulling the Ring off as he went.

…

“Where is Bilbo?”

“He managed to go unnoticed by the goblins,” Thorin answered, “He had his knife. I think he meant to free us from behind,” Thorin looked down. Bilbo was surely dead. It was inexcusable. He had simply forgotten one of his Company in the midst of battle. What sort of leader did that make him?

“No,” came a breathless voice, “I’m here.”

“How?” asked Gandalf.

“I fell in a fight with a goblin. There are caves beneath the goblin town. I had a lucky landing, the goblin did not. But Gandalf, there is something.” Bilbo seemed to fight with himself as he pulled something from his pocket, held in a clenched fist, “It’s a ring. It must be magic, I can’t … It draws you in. Doesn’t let you go.”

And indeed it must be, thought Thorin. For he recognised the look in Bilbo’s eyes, it was the Gold Sickness that his Grandfather had succumbed to, but for it to come on so fast must be some dark magic.

“Let me look at that Bilbo,” said Gandalf. Bilbo started to withdraw his hand, but Gandalf grabbed his wrist, “Bilbo … this ring. I believe it is darker than anything I have seen before. I cannot allow you to keep it. I must take it back to the White Council and see what must be done.” Bilbo looked as if he was in agony as Gandalf wrapped the Ring in a piece of cloth, making sure never to touch it.

Gandalf looked set to leave when they heard the all too familiar sound of Wargs. “Out of the frying pan,” muttered Gandalf.

“Into the fire,” Thorin agreed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The reason I gave Bilbo such a different reaction to the Ring than in canon is that the Ring affects different people in different ways - using their ambitions and weaknesses to entice them, such as Boromir only wanting to save Gondor, but the Ring uses that to drive him mad. This Bilbo is much weaker to the Ring because he is a much more vulnerable person. He has no place he really feels is home, and is desperate to find one. He is also desperate for the approval of the Company and so that is what the Ring preys on.
> 
> As for Thorin's reaction to Bilbo, it is because Bilbo again is different to canon. Thorin has already seen Bilbo's worth as a warrior, even if it is a type of fighting not used by dwarves, and this Bilbo has shown much less desire to return to the Shire. Also, most importantly, I had Thorin see Bilbo behind them as they were taken away, and have him guess Bilbo's plan.


	4. Chapter 4

Bilbo ran with the rest from the Orcs, his knife flashing, stabbing and cutting with devastating efficiency. He even had his sword out as well. Bilbo had decided that as he had it, he might as well use it, and it might mean he was marginally better protected (but not really as he was truthfully useless with a sword).

They hurried up the trees, frightened and cold until everything started burning and falling. The tree they had all gathered on and the fire cones they had flung had set everything around them ablaze.

Then Thorin stood.

Bilbo watched. Some madness had gripped the Dwarf King; Bilbo knew enough to say that had Bilbo been in his right mind he would have been trying to help his kin. Then Thorin started running. Bilbo could see what was going to happen before Thorin even reached the end of the tree. Perhaps even Thorin knew what was going to happen, that he was running to his death, but simply could not let The Defiler go.

And Bilbo knew Thorin couldn’t die.

Everything rested on him, the Company, the Quest, Erebor. The vague definition of ‘home’ Bilbo had been forming. And so Bilbo stood up too.

He hated them. He hated them all.

He hated Gandalf for interrupting his world.

He hated the dwarves for, for pushing him away and slowly including him.

He hated the Orcs for their malevolence, their violence, their bloodthirst and for what they did to Thorin.

He hated Thorin most of all, for his arrogance, his pride, his bullheadedness, for rushing so readily into certain death.

He hated himself for rushing after him.

…

“The Halfling?”

“Bilbo is fine.”

Thorin struggled up and Bilbo watched him as he stood off to one side. He wondered what Thorin’s reactions would be. Angry that they had let Azog go, most likely.

“You.” Bilbo turned to stare as he heard the accusation in Thorin’s voice, “What were you thinking?”

So. He wasn’t allowed to fight. Not to protect their leader. No, not their, the Dwarves’ leader. Was never supposed to be part of this Company.

“I could ask you the same thing.” Bilbo spat back. Thorin looked taken aback. Obviously no one ever dared interrupt Thorin Oakenshield. Except Gandalf, but Gandalf didn’t count.

“You could have died,” said Thorin.

“Says the Dwarf who flung himself at the Orcs. You might as well have presented your head on a plate.”

“Silence, Hobbit!”

Bilbo turned away, “Very well,” he said, his voice now almost a whisper, “I shall not attempt to interfere where I am not welcome.”

“Do you mean to leave us then, Hobbit?” Thorin was no longer shouting and his voice was even, but it still betrayed a hint of anger, and, if Bilbo would look for it, which he wouldn’t, pain.

“I will fulfil the terms of my contract. No more. No less.”

The silence was heavy and oppressive. Gandalf looked between the two, longing to speak, but he knew that whatever he said would only ignite the two further. He could only hope that they would reconcile by themselves.

“I am not … ungrateful,” said Thorin, obviously not used to struggling for words, or talking to somebody whose back was resolutely turned to him.

“Indeed.”

“My words were not … thought out.”

There was silence from Bilbo, though Thorin got the distinct impression that Bilbo was raising an eyebrow. Indeed, if Bilbo were to say something, Thorin thought that he might be saying, ‘Obviously,’ in that dry voice of his.

“I was simply worried. As I would over any member of the Company,” Thorin a small smile to cross his face, though Bilbo could not see it, “who had launched themselves at a pack of Orcs.”

There was a small amount of grumbled laughter from the Dwarves and Bilbo turned round to face them.

“One of the Company?”

Thorin walked over a simply clutched Bilbo to his chest, trying to communicate something he didn’t precisely had any words for, and relaxed when Bilbo tentatively hugged back.

Thorin pulled away, still holding Bilbo by his arms, “The Company is more than a contract,” he said, “And you are more than a Burglar.”

Gandalf chuckled and chewed on his pipe as the Dwarves gathered around Bilbo and have their assertions that he was one of the Company, before once again feeling the weight in his pocket.

“And now I must take my leave once more,” the Dwarves scowled, “the Ring that Bilbo found contains a magic that has not been since darker days, that much I know already. I cannot carry the Ring for any longer than I have to, for I fear what it will do. I must seek council. This is not something I can deal with on my own. Farewell, I will return as soon as I am able.” 

After instructing to seek Beorn’s House, Gandalf turned and left. Perhaps the most frightening about The Ring, Gandalf thought, was that it felt like it was sleeping, and if it had such power when it was sleeping Gandalf shuddered to think of what it might be when it wakened.

Being one of the Istari, Gandalf technically did not need food or sleep, however, like his pipe smoking, it was one of the habits of the inhabitants of Middle Earth that he was not inclined to give up. Going without made him exceptionally grumpy.

However, he knew that he needed to get back to Rivendell with all haste and even without a horse he arrived exceedingly quickly.

…

“The Ring can be hidden by the power of the Elves, but there must come a time when we decide what to do with it, Gandalf, and quickly,” said Elrond.

“First we must find out what exactly it is we are dealing with,” said Gandalf, slightly pained. Elrond looked at him thoughtfully.

“But you do not trust Saruman any more?”

“Saruman’s wisdom has held firm through the ages and even his scepticism must acknowledge this. But there is something that I cannot yet identify. Something that may be clouding his judgement. The Ring is obviously something of immense power. Perhaps even A Ring of Power. Perhaps even The One.”

Elrond shook his head, “The Ring does not bear the inscription.”

“The Ring has passed through ages apart from the hand of its master, who knows what it is now. Besides, can you not feel it? The Ring is sleeping.”

“What are we then to do?”

“If my suspicions are true, and this is the Ring Of Power, we must delve into the deep of Minas Tirith, into the records of Isildur in order to find some proof.”

“And you will return to the Dwarves?” said Elrond with a note of disdain.

“Lord Elrond, The Necromancer, The Sword of Angmar, The Sickness in the Green Forest, and now this. Something is coming, and, as I said before, I would prefer not to have a dragon in the world when it does,” he glanced at the Ring, “Now more than ever. Yes, I shall return to the Dwarves.”

…

They all sat, comfortable, in Beorn’s House. Although none of them could say they liked Beorn (or even thought he was sane) they were much to fond of warms beds and good food to do anything but stay for the next few days. Especially as Thorin was still injured, although he, of course, would not admit to be in any way weakened. 

Thorin came to sit by Bilbo who was fiddling with an apple he couldn’t quite bring himself to eat. Bilbo sat the apple beside him.

“It’s funny,” said Bilbo, staring at his hands, “I miss it.”

“It seems that there was an evil in that ring that cannot be easily swayed by something as simple as knowledge,” said Thorin.

“You called it the Gold Sickness. I suppose it’s apt, but it’s more than that, I think,” Bilbo got up and started to pace, “Its like, I think. If you had picked up the Ring it would have told you, or not told you because it’s not exactly words. But it would have told you that It was all you needed to reclaim Erebor. To be King Under The Mountain. To have everything you ever wanted. If only you gave into it,” he turned to Thorin, “And you believe it, because _of course_ the Ring is your friend, your only friend, the only one you’ll ever need,” he stopped himself, “It must have been what drove the Creature in The Caves mad. And it got me. In such a short space of time. You have no idea how hard it was to give to Gandalf, even knowing how evil it was.”

Thorin watched Bilbo. He thought that perhaps he was beginning to piece some things together about Bilbo. His defensiveness. Some of Gandalf’s words. His efforts to prove himself as a useful member of the Company. His slip when he had said he had promised himself ‘never to loose Bag End again’. His reaction to Thorin’s angry words on the Carrock. His hopeful disbelief when Thorin had named him one of the members of the Company. His hesitant reaction to the hug. And now his words. The Ring had promised Bilbo, not gold or riches, but to be his friend.

Thorin knew that he could not yet ask what had happened to Bilbo, but he could try to be a friend to Bilbo.

“Burglar. Bilbo. I said the Company was more than a contract. You may,” and he found the words stuck unpleasantly in his throat, “choose to return to The Shire, but you will always have a place at Erebor. Your deeds will always be remembered. You will always be One Of Us.”

If the smile on Bilbo’s face was anything to go by, he had said the right thing.

…

“Why did you fling yourself after me? It was a foolish thing to follow a foolish Dwarf.”

“It was logical. The Quest cannot proceed without its leader.”

“Nobody rushes into battle like that because of _logic._ ”

“Then I suppose you have your answer.”


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N – Firstly, sorry for putting the Author’s note in the text, but I’ve been having trouble with Author’s Notes ending up on the wrong chapters, and I wanted to make sure this was in the right chapter because of WARNINGS – As in – mentions of slavery and implied non-con/dubious-con.  
And yes, Thranduil is ever so slightly OOC, because he may be a bit of a bastard in the book, but he’s not a monster. My excuse is that living in a cursed wood for so long has driven him a bit insane.**

…

 

They were told to travel through Mirkwood. To never leave the path. The instruction was given with such force that Bilbo knew that there must be some malevolent enchantment on the wood. And that they would end up leaving the path.

They entered the forest and all too soon the sense of creeping claustrophobia engulfed them. There was a deathly stillness and there seemed no way of imagining that anything could live in the forest, and yet they did not disturb the silence.

They walked for several days, or weeks. It was hard to tell the difference between the days and night. Eventually, their supplies began to run out. Bilbo was forced to climb a tree, to see if there was an end to the wood, and he had to return with the news that he couldn’t see any. The Dwarves blamed him for the news, but he understood. He felt bitter and miserable as well.

_Don’t leave the path._

And of course they left the path. They had heard singing, saw a fire, and thought to beg for food, and then the lights disappeared. The fire and the singing had been an illusion, no doubt.

Bombur fell into an Enchanted River and as The Company pulled him out a great sleepiness fell over them all. Bilbo wanted to scream as his eyelids grew heavier, but he couldn’t because his mouth seemed to have stopped working.

He’d be damned before he let another enchantment get hold of him.

Bilbo struggled against his limp limbs and tried to pull the Dwarves away from the water. A few others had realised what was happening and struggled with him. They got further away from the river and woke more with each step.

Bilbo had begun to feel quite pleased with himself when they wandered into the nest of giant spiders.

The Dwarves were back to almost normal by that time, though, and a good bit of hacking and slashing later and they were through, albeit with webbing stuck to their weapons, clothes and any other bit it could get hold of. Laughing at their (sticky) victory they didn’t see the elves at first. Even if they had they would’ve had no chance against those that knew the cursed wood like none else in Middle Earth.

…

They were stripped, searched, their weapons taken. The Dwarves yelled and tugged against their bonds at the loss of their beloved weapons, but Bilbo stayed still and silent except for one small keen note at the loss of the dagger his Mother had given him.

They stood, their armour removed and it was revealed.

The brand on Bilbo’s shoulder that had been with him for so long. The brand of a slave.

Of course, there were few groups in Middle Earth that practiced slavery, and less that would admit to it, but in the groups of wildmen that Bilbo had been flung back and forth among, it was a thriving industry. 

It was a mark that Thranduil obviously recognised.

Bilbo had always assumed that, due to the Dwarves’ hatred of the elves, the crimes of the elves had been exaggerated in the Dwarves’ stories. But Bilbo could believe every last one of them as Thranduil leant forward with what could pass for a leer on his blank slate of a face.

“A slave,” he turned to Thorin, “So it comes to this; the great, honourable Thorin, King Under The Mountain, has to buy such pitiful creatures to do his deeds.”

Thorin, perhaps because he had not understood the meaning of the brand and Thranduil’s words, or perhaps because he had understood all too well, answered, “Bilbo is no slave. He is a great friend and ally, and he came of his own free will. I will not have you slander him such.”

Thranduil laughed and clapped Thorin on the shoulder as if he was his friend, “Oh my dear Thorin. I’m afraid you’re much mistaken about your little pet Halfling.”

Bilbo, desperate now, said, “I was named Elf-Friend by Lord Elrond. Surely you would not imprison an Elf-Friend and the Company Lord Elrond willingly helped.”

Thranduil turned his head and looked at Bilbo curiously, “Then you are a poor Elf-Friend to invade my kingdom so.” Thranduil gave a slight jerk of his head and they were pulled down long, dark corridors and eventually into separate prisons.

…

Over the next few days Thranduil seemed to develop a fascination with Bilbo, trying to determine why a freed slave, and a Hobbit slave at that, would risk so much for a group of Dwarves he didn’t know and how, exactly, he had earned the name ‘Elf-Friend’. To the first he had no answer he would willingly share, or even, Bilbo thought, that Thranduil would understand. To the second, he had no answer, and could not see whatever it was that the elves at Rivendell had seen in him.

Thranduil would walk by the bars of Bilbo’s prison, sometimes silent, sometimes taunting and sometimes he would be friendly with Bilbo, as if their respective positions were equal.

“What do you want?” asked Bilbo, one time this happened, and Thranduil smiled, glad to finally get a response out of his stubbornly silent prisoner. 

“I wish merely to know why you are invading my wood,” said Thranduil, as if he were the victim.

“We were not invading. And you already know the ‘why’.”

“Oh, yes,” said Thranduil dryly, “The Dwarves keep their secrets well, but they are all so dreadfully passionate. It’s almost endearing. I suppose then the answer to your question, Hobbit, is because I want to.”

Bilbo cocked his head. Indifference. But there must be something behind the indifference that he could use, “You are not in the least curious about the treasures of Erebor, Elf-King? _The_ treasure, even. They say that even you paid homage to that.”

Thranduil gave a delicate shrug, “Curious, yes. But the Dwarves are to reclaim Erebor. Not the Elves. We are not so foolish as to challenge Smaug.”

Bilbo leaned forward, “I am a Burglar, Elf-King, not a Dwarf.”

Bilbo resisted smiling as the unmistakable gleam of greed entered Thranduil’s eyes, before he banished it, “And how am I to trust you, Burglar?” Thranduil said as he stroked Bilbo’s cheek with one, long finger, “How am I to win your devotion?”

“That is a question that a thousand slave owners have asked before you, Elf-King. They beat, they shouted, they roared, they tore me to pieces. But whilst they owned my body, they could never own my soul. You want my devotion, Elf-King? Then earn it.”

Thranduil opened the door and entered Bilbo’s prison, “Oh, I shall have your devotion, My Hobbit. You are a curious creature and you shall be mine and mine alone. You shall bring me my Arkenstone, my dear Burglar. But first, I shall _earn_ your devotion.”

Bilbo closed his eyes. For the Company, for freedom, for Erebor, for the strange family he had found.

For Thorin.

He made Thranduil believe he had his devotion.

…

“What did you do to make Thranduil release us, Bilbo?” asked Kili, full of excitement and awe.

“I told him I would steal the Arkenstone for him,” as expected, the Company immediately started to yell at him. Bilbo rolled his eyes, “I was lying to him, you nitwits. Of course I’m not going to give him the Arkenstone.” 

But Thorin, throughout it all, had been silent, watching Bilbo. He saw the hunched, defensive slant of his shoulders. He saw the way his flinched at every touch. He saw the angry, panicked, closed off look in his eyes. And Thorin shivered.

…

**A/N – Gah, writing the scene between Bilbo and Thranduil was one of the hardest things I’ve ever written. Please tell me how I did. Please?**


	6. Chapter 6

Though the Lonely Mountain was now in view the walk to Laketown was a silent one. The curiosity of some of the dwarves had been quickly tamped down by the others who had noticed his reticence, his wariness and the way he flinched when touched, but all of them were thinking the same.

The mark of a slave must be exactly what it sounded like. So. Somewhere out there, there were some certain ‘Slave Owners’ that needed an axe to their heads.

But what they all wondered was what, exactly had happened to convince Thranduil of Bilbo’s loyalty, for Thranduil would not trust easily especially as Bilbo was already beholden to the Dwarves.

They shivered, and added Thranduil to the list of people whose head needed a good bashing. Admittedly, Thranduil had already been on that list, but this just added one more, very convincing, reason. In fact, it was in the top two, along with ‘Damned treacherous elf abandoning us and breaking oath, in our time of need’, above ‘Kidnapping the Company’, ‘All those little ‘subtle’ insults he gave Thror when he was King’ and, ‘The fact he’s an elf’. 

All these comforting thoughts of revenge distracted them from the most pressing problem. Something in Bilbo had clearly broken. The Hobbit before them was not the Hobbit they knew. And they had not idea what to do about it. And so they planned their revenge on all those who had hurt Bilbo in the hope that it would help.

…

“The lads are planning revenge on anybody’s whose hurt you,” Dwalin stood at the door of Bilbo’s room in Laketown and Bilbo raised his head.

“Tell them not to bother.”

“Not even Thranduil?” Bilbo choked out a laugh, “But laddie, you’ve got to understand, you’re part of the Company. One of ours. And we protect our own and avenge those we can’t.”

Dwalin turned and left the room. Bilbo watched him go with a small smile.

_One of ours._

…

Bilbo was relaxing with Fili, Kili and Thorin. Fili and Kili often made Bilbo feel better, their mischievous brand of fun and youthful enthusiasm managed to lift the bitterness that had settled within him somewhat.

And as for Thorin? Bilbo was prepared to admit that he might just be a little bit in love, which was never really going to end well so he hid it and secretly nurtured it because sometimes it felt so good.

“Hey Bilbo?” said Fili, suddenly, “What happened to you? Before. With the mark.”

Thorin sat up straighter, prepared to rebuke his nephews, but Bilbo, realising at that point he could never hide forever, and perhaps he didn’t want to, just said, “When I was young I wandered too far and got very unlucky. I ran into a group of raiders. They branded me and took me to a … market place. The _stench_. I got passed from – I refuse to call them owners, but I got passed along for most of my life until one got careless. I lashed out. The knife, you see, my mother gave me that knife and I’d managed to keep it hidden all that time. I injured him, I doubt he died, but I injured him enough and so I ran. I eventually returned to the Shire. I tried to fit in again, but… They just didn’t understand and I’d never want them to. But the Shire was still the best place for me, even if I wasn’t the Hobbit I was before.”

The boys bowed their heads, silent, until Kili murmured, “We’ll kill any who hurt you, Bilbo.”

Bilbo shook his head, then held up his hand, halting their protests, “I’m tired. Their deaths would not satisfy me, nor would they heal the wounds already there,” he turned to Thorin, “If you do one thing for me, allow me, after Erebor is retaken, allow me to stay.”

“I have said before that you will always have a place in Erebor, Burglar, and intend to keep my word,” Bilbo muttered a ‘sorry’ for doubting Thorin.

“But I made a pact with your enemy. And even if I do not honour it, which I don’t intend to, I will have brought trouble upon you.”

“Which means nothing to the many things you have done to help us get to this point in the first place. We would still be languishing in the pits of Mirkwood, were it not for your ‘pact’. Besides, Dwarves will always fight with Elves, and whatever he has done to you, for I know the Elf-King did something, it needs to be avenged. You did nothing wrong, Bilbo Baggins, you have brought no trouble that would not already be there.”

“Well then. Let’s go fight a dragon.”

“Durin’s Day is nearly upon us. Fili, Kili, go alert the others. Burglar, I feel we need some kind of plan.”

…

In the end they didn’t manage much of a plan and their only real conclusion was that it would be so much easier if Gandalf were to show up at that moment. Gandalf, however, showed no sign of appearing and after many imaginative and inventive curses, some in Khuzdul, against Gandalf, they decided to proceed regardless.

The walk to the Lonely Mountain was short and again they were silent, this time for a completely different reason. Before them lay everything they had dreamed of, but there also lay a dragon, the greatest calamity of their age. They whispered, fearing that even the slightest sound might awake Smaug, and so they crept, hope and fear mingling. Thirteen Dwarves and one Hobbit versus the dragon.

…

It was almost over before it had begun, but, quite by chance, Bilbo, whose attention had been attracted by a thrush knocking on the stone, looked up at the right time. There before them was the hidden door, now glowing as the last light of Durin’s Day faded, and there was soon much scrambling to the door and the key thrust forward.

“And so to the dragon,” Bilbo muttered, himself feeling as if a dragon was crawling up from his stomach. Balin laid a hand on his shoulder.

“I’ll come in with you a little way, to show you the path, but we cannot risk the dragon catching my scent.” Bilbo nodded and thought briefly about saying his last goodbyes. He received pats and small words of encouragement from all the Dwarves. Last of all his forearm was clutched by Thorin, who slipped a bead from his hair into Bilbo’s hand.

Bilbo clutched the bead and walking into the lair of Smaug.


	7. Chapter 7

A/N – **Please read.** I’ve just seen DoS (so, spoilers for the film) and so I’m going to include some elements of the plot (at some point I’ll go back and edit previous chapters to fit in) the main one being the purpose of the Arkenstone, which was one of the things I loved about DoS, because it actually meant there was a reason for them to have a burglar, and it meant they had more of a plan than ‘get to Erebor, send the burglar in, wait, somehow reclaim homeland.’ Most other things haven’t changed, Fili, Kili, Bofur and Oin are still at the mountain, for example, and other things are directly A/U to the film. So yeah, Bilbo has now entered the mountain to try and steal the Arkenstone.

 

…

 

_You have got to be kidding me._

 

Bilbo looked over the … the _mountains_ of gold, trying to fight a growing sense of despair. How would he find one single gem in this? It would be the work of a hundred dwarves. And even if he found it, how would he know? A large white gem, Balin had said, he would know it when he saw it, and Bilbo was sure a dwarf would, but a hobbit? Hobbits had no appreciation for gold and gems, earth and nature was their calling. Still, as he had said to Balin, he had to try.

 

Bilbo crept down as slowly and as quietly as he could, and all but tumbled over the clinking, clattering gold.

 

Inevitably, it seemed, the dragon woke.

 

…

 

If Bilbo had thought that playing riddle games with Gollum was odd, it was nothing to bantering with a dragon. Bilbo’s vague plan of pacifying Smaug with flattery seemed to be working (even though Smaug could see right through Bilbo’s lies) until Smaug, with the quickness and viciousness of the serpent he was, found Bilbo’s weak spot. The dwarves he had come to call friends, even kin, and one dwarf in particular.

 

“You are nothing but a pawn,” the dragon whispered, or as near to whisper as a dragon could get. “Oakenshield has weighed your life and found it worth … nothing,” Smaug’s smug, rumbling voice echoed through the halls of Erebor and again into Bilbo’s ears.

 

_NoNoNoNoNoNo._

 

“No. You’re wrong,” Smaug laughed and Bilbo knew why. He sounded so weak. So insecure.

 

Because Smaug was right.

 

Thorin had weighed his life and found it worth so very little. He knew – he _knew_ that Thorin felt some sort of friendship for him, that all the dwarves did, but compared to Erebor? Compared to the Arkenstone? Thorin would throw him to a thousand dragons without a second thought.

 

_No_.

 

Thorin was not that callous. Bilbo had known what he was signing up for, he had known what the aim was and he had known the risk. It was a risk to the dwarves lives, all of them, but they weighed _home_ and found it worth dying for. He could do no less. Bilbo clutched the bead Thorin had slipped him so tightly it imprinted on his hand. He didn’t know Dwarven customs fully, but he knew they placed a special importance on hair. Thorin’s bead was not something he would give up lightly.

 

Renewed, Bilbo dove after the Arkenstone. Balin had been right, he had known it when he saw it. The glowing gem, the Heart of the Mountain. Bilbo didn’t truly understand what hold it had over the dwarves, why they would rally to the wielder of this gem, and not to the King Under The Mountain, but if this gem was what it took, then this gem was what he would steal.

 

Bilbo lunged after the Arkenstone as Smaug turned the piles of gold into a deadly hurricane. Bilbo didn’t feel the bruises as the gold coins battered into him, or as he was slammed onto the floor, or into a wall once again. Pain was an ever-present friend, he had learnt to withstand it, but he had never learnt to withstand love. His king, his dwarf that he loved in the silence, the flame he nurtured even as he hated it for controlling him, needed the cursed rock he chased, and so he would get it.

 

…

 

The Arkenstone was finally safe (although ‘safe’ was relative) in his pocket as Smaug loomed over him. Bilbo was close enough (far too close, thank you very much) to see that the chink in Smaug’s armour that Dwalin had dismissed as a fairystory was, in fact, very real.

 

That didn’t matter though, because Bilbo was very, _very_ dead. Smaug was taking his time, enjoying the kill, safe in the knowledge that there was nowhere for Bilbo to run.

 

Except there was.

 

It was monumentally stupid but, well, he was about to die by dragon. Bilbo ran at Smaug and thrust his little letter opener (Sting, he had decided. His little Sting that had seen the inside of a dragon) into that small gap. Smaug drew back and roared. It was by no means a killing blow, but the shock of being actually _hurt_ for the first time in centuries made him over react, and it gave Bilbo time to escape.

 

“Thief!” Smaug thundered, “THIEF!” but it was no good. Bilbo was already out of sight, heading back towards the hidden entrance.

 

…

 

To say that Bilbo was surprised to see Thorin at the top of the stairs was only a slight understatement. Part of him thought that _of course_ Thorin wouldn’t be able to stay out of Erebor, but most of him wondered what Thorin was doing here when the plan was for the dwarves to stay out of Erebor. Not that the absence of dwarves had helped much in the end.

 

“Bilbo. You’re alive.” Bilbo would’ve made a joke about Thorin stating the obvious if a, he had had the breath, b, he had had the time, and c, he didn’t feel a little warm inside at Thorin’s obvious relief.

 

“Yes, but not for much longer. The dragon–”

 

“Did you find it?” Bilbo fought the urge to roll his eyes and continued to the exit, because had he mentioned the dragon? And then Thorin drew his sword, “Did you _find_ it?”

 

_You are nothing but a pawn._

 

Bilbo found he could do nothing but whimper a feeble, “Thorin?” and clutch Thorin’s bead like a talisman.

 

“The Arkenstone, Burglar?”

 

_You are nothing more than the task you are set. If you fail, you are less than nothing._

 

There was a glittering madness in Thorin’s eyes and his sword was now pointing at Bilbo’s chest. Bilbo tried to tell himself that this wasn’t the real Thorin, that this was the sickness and he had to find some way to bring Thorin out of it, but the sound of his ragged heart breaking was so much louder. “Thorin, please,” he was begging. He hated himself for begging. He had promised himself he would never beg again. Thorin remained unmoved. Bilbo armoured his heart with anger.

 

Then the dragon interrupted their little conversation, as well as the sudden arrival of the other twelve dwarves (Had they heard? Did they know? Did they care?) and they were off on a mad chase around Erebor.

 

Bilbo turned his anger towards Smaug, the little chink in the dragon’s armour his obsession. He flung all he could at it and told Balin where to aim his flash fire. Balin handed the pots to Kili and Ori, the two who had the best aim in the Company. At least three found their mark, and they could tell it hurt the dragon.

 

Eventually their mad plan succeeded and Smaug was drowned in molten gold, the burning liquid flowing into the chink they had widened. Thorin stood tall and triumphant, declaring Erebor once more the home of Dwarves. Bilbo, caught in the moment, cheered along with the rest of them. And then Thorin announced that they would search for the Arkenstone, since their Burglar had failed. Only Bilbo seemed to catch the note of derision in Thorin’s voice, or perhaps the dwarves did, after all, what use was a failed burglar?

 

Bilbo slunk into the shadows, missing Balin’s worried look and Thorin’s vague frown, the Arkenstone heavy in his pocket.

 

A/N – So, Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year! We finally have an update (I’m sorry it took so long but … yeah).


	8. Chapter 8

“Laddie,” said Balin as he quickened his pace to catch up with Thorin, “do you think it wise to search for the Arkenstone now?”

 

“We are weak,” replied Thorin shortly, “Without it any would come and steal our treasure, including the other clans. With it, the dwarves will stay loyal. Yes, Balin, we need the Arkenstone. You know that more than any, why are you are asking this?”

 

“I worry for you.”

 

Thorin spun round, his face twisted with anger, “I am not my grandfather, nor will I ever be. I will not fall prey to the madness. Do you think me so weak? I see, you think it is inevitable. Do you really think so little of me?”

 

“No. I don’t think it’s inevitable, but I think it is a danger. I see the way you look at the treasure. And the Thorin I know would not have dismissed Bilbo so cruelly,” Balin leant in so none of the others could hear, “ _especially_ not after giving him a bead from your hair.”

 

Thorin started, he hadn’t realised anyone else had noticed him giving Bilbo the bead, but if anybody would, of course it would be Balin. “Bilbo failed,” Thorin spat. He didn’t want to think on the hobbit.

 

The rest of the Company had stopped to watch the argument, and as much as Balin kept his own private thoughts, he knew they couldn’t have the rest of the Company doubting their leader. Balin sighed and began to walk on, “Maybe he did, maybe he didn’t,” he muttered, not as much to Thorin as to himself. He fell back, surreptitiously nudged Ori and gestured to him to find Bilbo. Balin watched him slip away with a small smile; Ori was quiet and unthreatening, but most importantly, he was observant, a vital skill for a scribe, and something he was sure would help Bilbo now. And more than any other in the Company, except himself, or perhaps Nori, Ori knew how to keep quiet when necessary, unlike any of the others close to Bilbo, such as Bofur or the princes.

 

Balin suppressed another sigh as he thought that not so long ago he would’ve said, without doubt, that the person Bilbo was closest to was Thorin, and the person Thorin was closest to was Bilbo.

 

…

 

Ori wandered back through the Halls to where he had last seen Bilbo, when the cheer had gone up that the dragon was dead.

 

_Search for the Arkenstone, since our Burglar has failed to find it._

 

Ori didn’t shout Bilbo’s name or even look properly. If Bilbo didn’t want to be found, he wouldn’t be.

 

“Hello Ori,” Ori whirled round, heart beating madly. Bilbo stood behind him on a platform, looking down on him. His face was … blank (it wasn’t really, but it was the only word Ori could think of to describe it) and sounded calm, collected, friendly, even. Most wouldn’t have thought there was anything wrong with Bilbo, but Ori saw more than most. This had to be something more than Thorin’s slight when he ordered them to search for the Arkenstone.

 

“What happened?”

 

“When?”

 

“To make you so angry. What did Thorin do?” Ori shook slightly. Balin had sent him because he would be less blunt than Bofur, not more.

 

Bilbo looked at him for a moment, weighing his words, “He showed me … exactly how much I was worth.”

 

“It’s – it’s the Sickness. He’ll…” _snap out of it_ , Ori wanted to say, _see what’s important,_ but words failed him. He truly didn’t know what was going to happen, and couldn’t pretend that he did. Bilbo jumped in with a vicious sneer when Ori hesitated.

 

“Yes, it’s the _Sickness_. The Gold-Sickness, the Dragon-Sickness, whatever you call it, it’s the _Sickness_. The one he swore he would not fall prey to, yet one glance at a pile of glittering _shit_ was enough to make him lose all reason. Or perhaps he didn’t. Perhaps that damned stone was always worth more than my life. I wouldn’t be surprised,” Bilbo’s voice faded into bitterness, “At any rate, it doesn’t matter now.”

 

“You can’t leave!” Ori almost yelled. They had promised, they had _sworn_ to give Bilbo a home in Erebor. Sworn that he would never feel like he didn’t belong again. Ori felt he would do almost anything to keep that promise, even if he had to talk sense into Thorin.

 

Right. He might need’s Balin’s help with that one, just a little.

 

Bilbo gave him another long look, but it seemed more as if he were arguing with himself than Ori. Ori stayed silent, he knew if he pestered Bilbo he would probably make things worse.

 

“I won’t leave,” said Bilbo reluctantly, “I’ll see this through to the end, even if we all burn. I’ll see your mad king crowned.” Ori nodded and sat down. After a moment Bilbo sat down beside him. Neither said a word. There didn’t really seem to be anything left to say.

 

…

 

_If only they had not come armed_ , Balin thought, looking on the Lake-Men. Bard’s arguments were sound, they didn’t truly know whether the dragon was dead when they marched on Erebor, but the insult and aggression implied did not sit well with Thorin. Nor did the fact that it was Bard they were negotiating with, Bard who had tried to stop them reaching the mountain. Balin shook his head, he knew Bard’s fear, had shared it, and he was sure Thorin had understood. Thorin knew dragonfire.

 

If he was being truthful with himself, Balin knew the Gold Sickness was affecting Thorin. All of them were being affected, Balin had to constantly draw his eyes away from the piles of treasure and even Dwalin had left Thorin’s side on occasion, muttering about rubies. And Thorin searched constantly for the Arkenstone, his mood worsening with every moment he didn’t find it.

 

Balin tuned back into the argument, “And why should we give the Men of Lake-Town anything?” Thorin yelled.

 

“Because you promised to!” Everyone turned to stare at Bilbo, who seemed to have appeared out of nowhere. Bilbo used the shocked silence, his presence growing, “You promised an alliance. Enough gold to rebuild Esgaroth several times over, I believe were your words. Did you never mean them? I had taken you for a dwarf of honour, it seems I was mistaken.”

 

Thorin turned and stalked up to Bilbo, “You know nothing of honour,” he growled, “You who would so easily make alliances with my enemies.”

 

“The men of Lake-Town are not your enemy.”

 

“I do not talk of the men of Lake-Town.” There was silence, the men glanced at each other, not knowing what was going on, but knowing _something_ was. Bilbo went white, “The elves of Mirkwood are approaching. Perhaps you would like to treat with them,” Thorin continued.

 

“Perhaps I might, if his majesty is incapable.”

 

“I am not incapable.”

 

“Yes you are,” Bilbo spat, “You refuse to negotiate anything. You’re so sick with greed you cannot think of parting with a single coin. You’re an overinflated pig, drunk on your own self-importance. You’re not the dwarf I know. You’re not-” Bilbo broke off, shaking, then turned and walked away without a word.

 

…

 

As predicted the elves had arrived by nightfall. They set up camp with the men, which had all the dwarves muttering about the trustworthiness of the men of Lake-Town (and did they mention they hate elves?) Bilbo suppressed an eyeroll and crept out, not that any of the dwarves were keeping an eye on him (particularly stupid in his opinion. He had all but stated what he planned to do.)

 

Unknown to Bilbo, Ori watched him go and hoped that whatever Bilbo’s plan was, it went as well as Bilbo’s plans had in the past.

 

…

 

Bilbo walked to the elven camp his back straight, his whole posture proud, and every bit of it a lie. Bilbo stopped before the guards at the king’s tent, “I have come to see King Thranduil. Tell him it is Bilbo Baggins.”

 

Bilbo entered and saw to his delight that Bard and the elven princeling were also there. Thranduil himself leant back in a makeshift throne, giving the impression that the others were merely dancing in attendance.

 

Thranduil leant forward when he saw Bilbo, “Have you bought the jewel?” he purred.

 

“Have you a cure for the gold sickness?”

 

Thranduil frowned, “That was not part of the conditions.”

 

“Conditions change.”

 

“What is going on here?” said Bard stepping forward.

 

“This is what happens when a slave has more honour than a king,” said Bilbo, “and a king of elves, no less, who always pretend they are so above it all. This is what happens when an elven king kidnaps a dwarven Company, and lets them go for a promise by their Burglar. A promise that the Burglar would betray his own Company. A promise he extracted by – by _raping_ that Burglar.”

 

Thranduil looked furious, Bard stepped back in horror and Legolas had his sword to Bilbo’s throat in an instant, “I will not have you speak of my father that way.”

 

“Believe me,” Bilbo said quietly, “if I could speak of him any other way, I would.” Legolas hesitated at the completely sincere, and more than that, sad look in Bilbo’s eyes. His father had not been well since the sickness had fallen on the Greenwood, but could it have affected his father’s mind to such a degree? Legolas felt sick himself just thinking about it.

 

“ _Traitor_ ,” Thranduil spat, moving towards Bilbo. Legolas blinked. ‘Traitor?’ then that would mean that what the Halfling said was not a lie, but a secret.

 

“Silence was never part of the conditions,” Bilbo shot back, “but nevertheless, I keep my word,” Bilbo’s hand darted into his pocket, brought out the Arkenstone and threw it to Thranduil, who caught it automatically. Bilbo turned to face Bard and said quietly, “I will do everything I can for you. Thorin is sick, if he were well – well, it does not matter now,” Bilbo straightened, “You shall have to fight side by side with dwarves anyhow. There’s an orc army approaching. You have no room to manoeuvre. Prepare to fight.”

 

Bilbo turned and left, leaving a shell-shocked group behind him.

 

“He’ll never forgive you, you know,” Thranduil yelled after him, “Sick or well, Thorin Oakenshield will never forgive you for giving me the Arkenstone.”

 

“I know.”

 

 


	9. Chapter 9

Bilbo stumbled back to Erebor. What had he done? He could try and justify he is actions as buying peace, but he knew in truth it was petty revenge, the chance to hurt both Thorin and Thranduil. But it was Thranduil who now had the Arkenstone and Thorin who stood alone in a ruined fortress with an Orc army on the way.

 

He would return, admit his treason, and beg for a swift death.

 

But he had promised Bard he would help.

 

He was a liar and a thief, the lowest creature, one who had used a few sick words from Thorin as reason to stab him in the back in the worst way. He was all that, but he intended to keep his promise to Bard. He liked to think he had some honour left.

 

He would have to steal more, though he could only carry a little. He would have to steal only the most valuable then. Ori had been kind, perhaps he could help identify…

 

Bilbo screwed his eyes shut. No. This was theft. Treason. He could not ask Ori to be part of such a thing.

 

Bilbo crept back into Erebor and lined his pockets with the shiniest trinkets. If any other had seen him he wouldn’t have looked so out of place; the rest of the dwarves were happily searching through the gold, claiming particular pieces for themselves. Heart, pockets and backpack heavy, he left Erebor once again.

 

…

 

Bard looked over the gold and jewels the hobbit had brought him. He was careful to keep his feelings off his face, though he was sure the hobbit knew – it was not enough, not nearly enough, but it had been all the hobbit could carry. Still, it mattered little now; there was an orc army approaching and gold meant nothing to a dead man.

 

“You’re an honourable fellow, Master Baggins,” Bard said, “and your help shall not go unremembered.”

 

“You use that word easily. I am a liar twice over. I must go now and I won’t be able to return. For what it’s worth, I hope the little I brought helps.”

 

“It will, Master Baggins, it will. And I thank you for it.”

 

…

 

Bilbo approached Erebor once and flinched when he heard Thorin and Balin caught in a fierce argument, “We need to find the Arkenstone so we can rally the dwarves around us! How can you not see this, Balin?” yelled Thorin. The argument, Bilbo supposed, was a sound one, but he could hear the terrifying hunger in Thorin’s voice, and thought that Balin could probably hear it as well.

 

“It is precisely because of those same orcs that we cannot waste anymore of our time searching. Dain is already coming to our aid, with or without the Arkenstone.” Balin replied, his voice determinedly even.

 

“Dain seeks to take the throne and Erebor’s riches from me now there is no dragon to hinder him. If I wielded the King’s Jewel he would be kept at bay.”

 

“You must rule without the Arkenstone. You are King Under The Mountain, whether you possess a single jewel or not. It is time the other dwarves were reminded of this.”

 

“You won’t find the Arkenstone,” said Bilbo, his voice a lot stronger than he felt. “Thranduil has it.”

 

Thorin turned and Bilbo thought that Thorin really had been carved from stone, his face captured in eternal rage. “Explain, Halfling.”

 

Bilbo dropped to his knees, “You remember I made a deal?” the dwarves around him gasped but Thorin’s face remained stone, “I meant to buy peace, and shame Thranduil at the same time.”

 

“Shame him?”

 

“That a slave has more honour than a king. I meant to reveal his … deeds in front of his kin.”

 

Thorin’s voice was curiously empty as he proclaimed, “I am betrayed.” Bilbo felt Thorin’s fist slamming into the back of his neck, smashing his face into the stone floor. He saw Thorin’s feet step back again, as if the sudden burst of temper hadn’t happened.

 

“You betrayed me first,” Bilbo couldn’t lift his eyes from the floor, so he couldn’t see Thorin’s expression. He quickly continued, “I meant to buy peace, but I know what I did. I am a wretched creature and petty revenge is no excuse. I am well aware I deserve a traitor’s death,” Bilbo was surprised to hear grumbles of discontent at that, but he continued, “but I beg of you this – let me fight the orcs alongside you. If I die, then I die. If I live … well that is your decision.”

 

Thorin nodded, “You shall have your wish. Until it is time for battle you shall be kept in the dungeons. If you survive you are banished from Erebor, on pain of death. Take him away.”

 

Rough hands pulled him up and Bilbo vaguely recognised the shape of Dwalin pushing him along. The dungeons, as expected were filthy, but Dwalin managed to find the cleanest one and pushed him in, followed by a bedroll, “Sleep well, Burglar,” Dwalin grunted, his face impassive and Bilbo was left staring long after he’d gone, still clutching the bedroll in his arms.

 

…

 

Thorin strode aimlessly through the treasury. He couldn’t search for the Arkenstone anymore, because the Arkenstone was not there! Curse the Halfling, and all his kin. Thorin had no idea why he had acquiesced to the Halfling’s request. The Halfling had stolen what was his. _His_. He had half a mind to go to the dungeons now and kill the traitor now, slowly and painfully as a traitor should die. What sort of king was he if he suffered traitors to live?

 

_You betrayed me first._

 

And why had the Halfling said that? Hadn’t he shown the Halfling every kindness? Offered, even, a place in Erebor for the Halfling when the quest was done? He had done no wrong, and yet the filthy Burglar had stolen his gold, his Arkenstone, his beautiful shining treasure.

 

_You betrayed me first._

 

Just like some pointy-eared, tree-shagging, elvish mongrel child to betray his friends so easily – and to assume he was in the right. The thought sickened him to his stomach – he had trusted – he had been betrayed. Bilbo.

 

_You betrayed me first._

 

Thorin spotted a mithril shirt lying atop a mound of gold. It was too small for any dwarf, but would be the perfect size for his hobbit.

 

_No. How could he give treasure to a thief? His treasure._

 

To wish the Burglar to stay alive was not a crime, traitor though he was.

 

_No._ He could not show any sympathy to the traitor.

 

_No one needs to know._

 

_You betrayed me first._

 

…

 

Bilbo lay flat on his back staring at the ceiling. There was a time when he could sleep in any condition, when quieting the voices in his mind was a necessity for survival, and he was good at surviving.

 

“Burglar. Up.” Bilbo scrambled to his feet. He could barely see the shadowed figure on the other side of the bars, but he recognised that voice. He wasn’t sure he wasn’t imagining things, but he went to the bars, stiff and to attention. Thorin held up something that caught the little light that was present, “This is mithril, Burglar, lighter and stronger than steel. It shall be your armour. Wear it under your clothes,” Bilbo took the mithril shirt. It was solid, it was real, unless this madness was a lot more creative than he first supposed, “ _Now_ , Burglar.” Bilbo sped to remove his shirt and put the mithril shirt on. It was cold and strange against his skin, but Bilbo loved it nonetheless, “Speak of this to no one.” Heavy footsteps walked away and Bilbo was once again left staring at the blackness.

 

…

 

The battle came and Thorin was glad for it. Battles were simple. It was life and death, the skill of the sword and the truth of the axe. He knew his enemies and he knew his friends.

 

_Slash. Block. Thrust. Step._

 

His kin was by his side and he fought for them and they fought for him. It was how it should be (only so long as they didn’t die. Please, Mahal, don’t let them die.)

 

_Slice. Slam. Block. Block._

His mind was clear.

 

_Block. Slash. Thrust. Step._

_His mind was clear._

_Block. Thrust. Stumble. No. Kili. Fili._

Whatever fog remained lifted.

 

_You betrayed me first._

 

He had drawn his sword on Bilbo. Threatened Bilbo. Struck Bilbo. Giving the Arkenstone to Thranduil had been revenge to both parties, buy peace, and show that a slave has more honour than a King. _Mahal_ , Bilbo had referred to himself as a slave and he hadn’t even noticed. _You have more honour than every king,_ Thorin thought, _especially me._ He needed to find Bilbo, apologise. If he knew Bilbo, he was probably blaming himself for everything that had happened (and yes, he was just still ever-so-slightly angry about the whole Arkenstone thing, but they could get past that.)

 

And then Thorin was knocked out by an orc club. _Stupid,_ he thought, _wasn’t paying attention_. Still, it was nice to die in his right mind, rather than in madness like his grandfather.

 

…

 

Bilbo woke, trying to stifle his groans as he pushed himself to his feet. He was alive then, which was … nice. He was banished, left to wander the wilderness. He could return to the Shire but the thought of the Shire felt even more sour now than it had ever done before. Bilbo wondered whether a swift death wouldn’t have been kind. Perhaps Thorin had known when he had pronounced his judgement.

 

Bilbo spotted Balin in the distance and stumbled over, “Is everyone … has anyone?”

 

“We have a few injuries, some more serious than others, but we’ll all pull through.”

 

Bilbo nodded, which made his brains feel as though they were bashing against his skull, “Right. I suppose this is goodbye then. It was an honour.”

 

Balin gripped his arm, “You can’t go, not yet. At any rate, you’re injured, you need a healer.”

 

“I don’t think you should be concerned with the injuries of traitors.”

 

Balin’s grip tightened, “You shouldn’t think of yourself like that.”

 

“Why not?”

 

“Because we are friends, and I have to believe we can continue to be friends.”

 

Bilbo allowed himself to be walked to the healing tents, because what else could he do? _I don’t think your king would think the same way_ , was on the tip of his tongue, but he didn’t say it. Mahal, or Yavanna, perhaps both, had blessed him with Balin’s continued friendship and perhaps one day he could regain the friendship of the dwarves. The healers tended to his head and the pain slowly dissipated. He slept and ate the weak stew the healers had managed to rustle up for the injured, and slowly a plan formed. He knew exactly what he had to do.

 

…

 

Thranduil was not having a good day. Not only had he been dragged into a battle, been forced to fight on the side of the dwarves, ruined his outfit, been forced to ride a common horse instead of his beloved moose, messed up his hair, but … Legolas wouldn’t look at him. His own son was treating him like he was some kind of monster. That Legolas would believe a Halfling over his own father hurt him. So the Halfling had been telling the truth, he didn’t have to make it sound so sordid. There had been no coercion – little coercion. It had been a deal, nothing more.

 

Funny, Mirkwood seemed so far away.

 

Thranduil reached back, at least he could hold something solid. His hand met air. The Arkenstone was gone.

 

…

 

Bilbo slipped into the Durin Son’s tent, the Arkenstone hidden beneath his jacket. Thorin’s eyes snapped open and he growled, trying desperately to sit up, “Don’t – you’ll hurt yourself,” Bilbo muttered as Fili and Kili woke up slowly and looked at Bilbo and their Uncle with wary curiosity. Thorin, having failed in his attempt to get up, settled for glaring. “You’re security is rubbish, by the way,” Bilbo said, and Thorin started to look particularly murderous, so Bilbo removed the Arkenstone from inside his jacket and knelt beside Thorin. “I thought – I thought I should return this personally. Your Majesty,” Thorin carefully took the Arkenstone, his eyes shining.

 

“I thought you had given this to the elf-king.”

 

“I did. I just … re-stole it.”

 

“A Burglar indeed.”

 

“Won’t Thranduil be mad?” Fili asked sleepily. Thorin snorted and muttered something about elves.

 

“Of course,” said Bilbo, “And if he’s stupid he’ll demand it back. You should hope that he’s stupid.”

 

“Why?” asked Thorin, narrowing his eyes.

 

“Because then you can ask what his claim is. His claim, of course, is that he got a thief to steal it, but he can’t ever admit that. He’ll be angry, but he can’t be angry with Erebor. Though I’m sure that won’t stop you arguing.”

 

“But he’ll be angry at you, won’t he?” said Kili, “What will you do?”

 

Bilbo stood up abruptly, “That’s no concern of yours. Not now. I will not be in Erebor.”

 

“Master Baggins,” Thorin rumbled, “Stay.”

 

…

 

A/N – Cliffhanger! But a happy(ish) one. Things aren’t going to immediately be sunshine and daisies but it’s looking up.

 

 


	10. Chapter 10

_“Master Baggins,” Thorin rumbled, “Stay.”_

 

Bilbo stared at Thorin. Fili and Kili were staying quiet for once, although they also desperately wanted to beg their hobbit to stay.

 

“Stay?” Bilbo repeated eventually, then his face once again closed off, “Ah, I see. You have the Arkenstone once more in your possession. All is well.”

 

“No!” Thorin said, but winced. He couldn’t deny that having the Arkenstone back soothed what remained of his anger. It was the curse of Durin, he supposed, to forever crave this … rock. “Yes – perhaps. The point is I was gold-sick. The fog lifted as we were fighting, and all I thought was that at least I’d die sane. Now I live through some strange mercy and I have the chance to make amends, to lift your banishment which should never have happened and to say once more that you have a home in Erebor, should you wish it.”

 

Bilbo’s silence was almost too much to bear, but Thorin waited. He had seen that look on Bilbo’s face many times before – the one that said somebody had done something unexpected and now he was trying to work them out. The one that spoke all too clearly of a trust broken too many times. But now it was laced with raw hurt and Thorin cursed himself for putting it there.

 

Bilbo drew a trembling hand from his pocket, holding the bead Thorin had given him a lifetime ago. Fili and Kili gasped as they recognised it. “What was this?” Bilbo asked, “What did it mean?”

 

Thorin couldn’t look at Bilbo as he answered, “Normally, in dwarven society, giving another a bead is asking permission to braid another’s hair. That is, it is a preface to courtship. I gave it to you because I knew you knew the significance of our hair and might get some of the message I was trying to give. I had little time with which to …  speak before you went to see the dragon.”

 

“Did you love me when…?” Bilbo sat at the stool at the end of Thorin’s bedroll, his back turned and his shoulders shaking slightly.

 

“I did – do,” said Thorin quietly. This wasn’t exactly how he’d dreamed of this moment, “It was what saved me.”

 

Bilbo gritted his teeth. He knew what his answer was without even having to think about it, he’d been craving those words too much. He stood up, his back still turned, “I’ll be staying – for the moment, I guess. I just need to be somewhere else right now.” No one tried to stop him leaving.

 

…

 

Bilbo wandered aimlessly through the camp. He couldn’t even begin to process what had happened. His thoughts and emotions were tugging him in different directions, but he eventually ran into Balin. Balin, wise as ever, merely gestured to the seat beside him and waited for Bilbo to speak.

 

“I’m staying,” Bilbo said quietly. “So that’s good, I suppose.”

 

“I’m glad,” replied Balin, “I would hate to have lost you, my friend.” Bilbo smiled weakly.

 

“He told me what the bead means – meant. He told me I saved him.”

 

“And what do you think of that?” said Balin evenly, despairing at the defeat in Bilbo’s voice.

 

“I think … I _want_. I want to believe it so much. I want that life. I think in another universe we could’ve been … But I can’t trust him. I’m vulnerable enough already. The sad thing is … I can’t leave him. I won’t leave until he sends me away,” Bilbo gave a bitter laugh, “and even then I have to try and claw my way back.”

 

Balin spoke, choosing his words carefully, “I’m not going to try and convince you one way or the other,” Bilbo looked at him in surprise, “No laddie, I’m not. You’d be perfectly within your rights to walk away and never look back, but it sounds like you’re not going to do that and so I will say this: there are thirteen dwarves here that love you. Thirteen dwarves that would strive to make sure you never feel alone again. And you did save Thorin from the sickness, something a thousand healers never could for Thror.”

 

“For somebody not trying to convince me you’re very convincing,” Bilbo said dryly. “Does it come naturally, or did you practice?”

 

Balin laughed, “Both. Comes with being an advisor to a king.”

 

“You don’t have to convince me, Balin. I’m staying. I’m just not happy about it.” Balin nodded and gently turned the conversation to more neutral topics.

 

…

 

For the next few weeks avoiding Thorin (and by extension, Fili and Kili) was easy, since the three of them were confined to the healing tents, and when they were moved to the healing rooms in Erebor they were still not allowed to leave.

 

As the dwarves flooded back to Erebor from all over Middle Earth Bilbo worried that these new dwarves wouldn’t accept him, but the Company spread word of Bilbo’s deeds throughout the Quest (excepting, of course, the whole miserable business with the Arkenstone). Bilbo had even heard that Thorin had quietly said that any objection to the hobbit’s presence in the ancient dwarf kingdom could be brought to him. Bilbo, when he heard this, walked quickly away, before his confused feelings about the dwarf king could come once again to the fore.

 

Bilbo helped where he could, and there was even talk of the fields and forests which had once prospered before the mountain, and whether the desolated ground might one day grow green shoots again. Bilbo eagerly joined in their discussions and found that, although they were rare, there were dwarves who found pleasure in the things that grow, and the fields before Erebor had once been responsible for feeding the entire kingdom. However, just as other races couldn’t work metal like the dwarves, the dwarves’ knowledge of the earth paled in comparison to that of a hobbit’s. Thankfully, the dwarves were not too proud to listen to Bilbo. As one of them had said, “All dwarves learn their craft from the masters of the craft, and to learn, every dwarf has to be humble enough to recognise their mastery.” Bilbo had blushed and replied that if they wanted a _master_ they should go to the Gamgees. Unfortunately, the Gamgees were not exactly available and so the task was left to Bilbo, which led to far too many sessions where Bilbo would say something like, “Of course the ground is ready to grow again, we just need to help it. Can’t you feel it in your feet?”  

 

The atmosphere around Bilbo was still tense, and Bilbo knew why. The whole situation with Thorin hadn’t been truly resolved. Bilbo had forgiven Thorin, but didn’t trust him, Thorin had revoked the banishment, but hadn’t seen Bilbo since. Bilbo still held Thorin’s bead, but no word of courtship had been uttered since that day in the tent. In truth, Bilbo knew he was being a coward. Thorin was keeping his distance to give Bilbo control, so Bilbo could decide when things moved forward, but Bilbo still found he couldn’t trust Thorin, and how could anything move forward if he couldn’t trust?

 

Bilbo was sitting on a high balcony, trying to sort out the tangle of his thoughts when Bifur came and sat beside him. Bilbo liked Bifur, despite not being able to understand him most of the time. True, he was odd, the axe having done more damage than just affecting his ability to speak Common, and when he got into one of his berserker rages it was best just to stand back. Perhaps it was because Bifur knew what it was like to be an outsider, to be damaged in a ways that nothing could fix, but they had always got along, in a quiet way.

 

Bifur handed Bilbo a carving. It was two sided, one side there was Bilbo, looking every bit the adventurer, on the other he was sitting down, looking completely content in an unmistakably dwarven chair. “Do you think so?” asked Bilbo, turning the carving over in his hand, “Really?” Bifur said something gentle in Khuzdul, “He’s waiting for me to make a move, Bifur. I suppose it means he’s trying to do the right thing, but I can’t help feeling like he’s ignoring me. A problem that’ll either resolve itself or go away,” Bifur made a derisive sound and Bilbo nodded, “I know, I’m driving myself mad. I just don’t know what to do.” Bifur made a gesture like he was about to take a leap, Bilbo nodded again, “Probably the only way. Take the leap and hope I don’t crash.”

**Author's Note:**

> *Almost direct quote from 'The Hobbit' (book) - I wanted Bilbo to make his decision when he heard the dwarves sing, so I read that bit in the book because I remembered it was beautiful and then literally couldn't think of any other way to put it. Sorry Tolkein.


End file.
